


and to what end, we cannot know

by violentdarlings



Series: Entrapment Boning [2]
Category: Entrapment (1999)
Genre: Catherine Zeta Jones - Freeform, Drama, F/M, Insecurity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sean Connery - Freeform, Sex, Underloved Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble in paradise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and to what end, we cannot know

Her plan doesn’t work so well. For the first day, it’s splendid. Borderline perfect. They spend the morning beginning to plan the next job, but they only manage a half hour before she starts to touch him, a slow torture.

_“I agree,” she says, leaning over his shoulder to examine the intricate map. It reminds him of the time she was (adorably) boasting of her skills, pointing to a computer screen, seizing the pencil from her hair to indicate on the screen. Before, it had drawn his attention for long moments that telescoped. Now, now that she is his and he is hers, the effect is no less profound._

_Her hand settles on his shoulder to steady herself, and he hardly dares breathe. Whatever this is between them - it’s so new, so shiny, like a bar of freshly minted gold. “So what next?” Her delicate hand trails down to his chest, brushing over his sternum, and he orders his heart to still._

_“I’ll put my order in, and it should be here within three days. In the meanwhile, we’ll review the equipment we already have.” He turns to look up at her to find her grinning._

_“This is why I want you,” she tells him triumphantly, as though he’s done something brilliant rather than something humdrum, and her fingers caress the v of his button up shirt. Now they’re back, he’s donned his customary shirt underneath it and a jumper over the top. “I miss how easy it was in Kuala Lumpur,” she murmurs conversationally, her lips a hairsbreadth from his neck._

_“The job? That wasn’t easy, it was well nigh impossible.”_

_“No, idiot,” she says, and he takes no offence. Indeed, it wrings a wry smile from him. “I mean how easy it was to see you.” He lifts an eyebrow in mute query, even though she can’t see it, but she elaborates anyway. “All you’d wear was a button-up and trousers. I could see your wrists, your throat…” She rubs her cheek against the roughness of his beard, her breath tickling._

_“And you liked it?” he asks, hands still on the table, holding the map flat._

_“Well…” She lets the sentence hang. “Maybe.”_

_“Maybe?” he repeats, swivelling to eye her over his shoulder. “And what do you think now you’ve seen it all?” She bites her lip._

_“Actually, I haven’t seen it all,” she says. “Last night, well, we were under the blankets. I only saw a little of you…”_

_“Perhaps that’s for the best,” he replies, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation is heading. “I’m no supermodel,” he says lightly, attempting to steer her in a different direction. She snorts, a most unladylike noise._

_“I see right through you, Mac,” she tells him. “You think because you’re not my age, I won’t like what I see. It’s bullshit. I picked you, not just for your brain.”_

_“Oh?” he asks, daring to hope. Understanding slowly dawns on her face._

_“Oh, indeed,” she murmurs, perching herself on the table in front of him, heedless of the crumpling map. He shoves it away, onto the floor. “The first time I heard your voice, I got wet,” she says conversationally, and he almost chokes. “It was a FBI tape of an interview you’d given. They sent it over to us after I begged Hector. You were my obsession. And from the first word you said - I was hooked. I got so wet, I had to turn it off. I went and masturbated in the fire closet.” Her breathing has increased as, mute, he inches her jacket from her shoulders. “And the night you appeared in my hotel room, I’ll still don’t know how you got out, by the way -”_

_“And you never will,” he smirks._

_“Whatever. I touched myself after you left. I couldn’t have slept otherwise.”_

_“You’re mad,” he informs her, but he’s smiling. “Shush, now. Any more and I’ll blush.”_

_“But you believe me?” Gin asks, eyes like stars, and he finds himself nodding, finds the confidence to take her hand and press it against his erection._

_“And then some,” he says, conscious for the first time of the deepness of his voice, the dark sweetness his accent lends to words. He’s lived with it his whole life, it doesn’t affect him. But it affects Gin._

_“Jesus, Mac,” she says, her voice laced with shock and approval, but it quickly breaks into a grin. “Did I do that?” He stands abruptly, looming over her, leaning down to kiss her hard._

_“Of course, dear,” he replies, slipping his hands under her arse to pull her flush against him. “Just as I did this.” He slips his hand below the waistband of her loose trousers, finding her dark curls, her slick flesh._

_He fucks her there on the table, both of them still mostly clothed. His knees ache as he spreads her legs wide and licks at her until she’s whimpering, and his hip protests when he thrusts into her. Her voice is high and pleading; she curses and tells him she hates him but claws at him to come closer, and he murmurs in her ear lovely, filthy things._

And just like that the day is gone and nothing has been accomplished. The next morning after breakfast, when she goes to wrap her arms around him, he forces himself to step back. “No,” he tells her, raising his hands to ward her away. “We have planning to do. Work to do. Yesterday was a waste -”

“A waste?” she snaps shrilly, firing up at once. “Fine, then. Fuck you. I’m going to swim in the loch.”

“Someone might be watching!” he shouts after her in concern, but his volume and ire causes him to sound furious. “Don’t be a fool!”

“Let them watch!” she bellows back. “Hopefully I’ll get arrested again and then you’ll have plenty of time to plan, won’t you?”

He cold have handled things a little better, he reflects later. Despite his vow to stay on task, he finds himself looking up at the clock counting the minutes, raising his head at every little creak, hoping to see her. She stays away the entire day and he refuses to panic, knowing that if she’d been caught, the authorities would have been on him within minutes. So he continues to work, until the clock chimes nine and he realises it’s dark out.

“Gin?” he calls, standing and stretching out creaking joints. “You home?” He scours the castle, ending at her former room. Her things are still there, a sign that she hasn’t left permanently. Despite asking to move into his, she hadn’t had time yet.

He finds her on the roof with a handful of stones, throwing them one by one. He can’t see her face but her shoulders are set tense, and he imagines her pretty face would be the same. “Gin,” he says quietly, his words almost stolen by the wind, and she hurls a rock with especial viciousness.

“Mac,” she grits out. Evidently, he not’s been forgiven. Thirty years ago, he would have refused to apologise, would have perpetuated the wall of silence being built stone by stone between them. But he is wiser now, and he steps forward, intent on setting a gently hand on her shoulder to turn her around.

His hand is outstretched, and he opens his mouth to apologise.

“You’re right,” she says without turning around, and he closes his mouth. “It was naïve of me, to think we could be together and work together. Let’s get the job done, and then we’ll talk.” The silence seems to stretch and he can’t remember what he was going to say. The job. The fucking diamond. He takes the last pebble from her hand, and casts it down onto the sharp rocks below.

“Very well,” he replies. “Come in from the cold. We have work to do.”

She follows him in, down the stairs, into the kitchen, and numbly he makes dinner. Only this morning she’d been teasing him about his terrible cooking skills. Now she sits with her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, her fingers slowly losing that blue tinge. She eats, he eats, and without a ‘good night’ she departs. Their easy camaraderie has fled along with the passion only recently discovered, and throughout the month that follows as they plan their latest caper, it does not return.


End file.
